


Things I (not me) Love About You (probably not you)

by honeymink



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymink/pseuds/honeymink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hurts as much as Lilly’s betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things I (not me) Love About You (probably not you)

If you thought about this, which you didn’t, it’d be evident she is only in this for Veronica.

Light as a feather, she sits on your lap. That’s something you’re used to: A pretty blonde on your arm as you indulge in takeout at the 09ers’ lunch table. Of course her staring over to where Prince Charming holds court, the Wicked Witch, Dopey and some blue haired maiden by his side, diminishes your welfare. Suddenly the food in your mouth tastes stale and your trophy feels more and more like a ballast.

If you knew her at all, you wouldn’t assume this was about Duncan. All she ever wanted was Veronica, her attention and her friendship. And now, looking over there, Meg almost certainly thinks it should be her and you sitting at that table with them instead of Veronica’s friends. But you assume this is about Duncan, because you don’t know her at all.

“Hey Logan, doesn’t look like you have to buy Meg a pony anymore.” Dick interrupts your train of thought. He’s grinning salaciously and probably expects you to high five him.

But Meg is still sitting on your lap. Tight-lipped and with her nostrils flared she looks at you, waiting for you to defend her virginity.

So you reply pointedly, “People who talk in metaphors ought to shampoo my crotch.”

Dick shrugs. Meg rolls her eyes. Again you can pride yourself in not meeting anyone’s expectations.

As you pick at your fruit salad, you boldly ignore Meg’s stone cold stare. Instead you smirk and offer, “Have another cherry.”

***

This is the place where dreams begin. You learn to bribe. You learn to say please. The best thing you have going for you is your willingness to humiliate yourself.

Everything in her room is painted in pastels. Soft and light. It makes your head hurt. She wears rose coloured panties with a matching top and you seriously think about bringing her some of your mother’s clothes to put on next time. It would be so much more of a turn on.

Of course that’s trifles. Like her always leaving the door ajar, in order to reach out to her parents with that sign of confidence.

Meg is still busy with her make-up while you lie on her sugar princess bed and stare at the TV, catching some _Relic Hunter_ rerun. Just as you undo the top button of your jeans, you realise you’re being watched.

“Looking for porn, Lizzie? I can certainly get you access to my father’s xxx collection. Aaron Echolls in ‘Deflowering Lilly’ -- how does that sound?” you ask, jovial.

As you approach the door, Meg’s sister stares at you, hostile, and her brows rise. No answer is necessary. With a mocking smile you slam the door in her face.

Back on the bed, you’ve lost your pants by now, Meg joins you hesitantly. You, in the first ecstasies of initiation, have a few bright hopes. Her shirt is riding up and when you lie down next to her she doesn’t push you away immediately. Moving up close to her, you nibble on her collarbone, then let your head rest on her breast.

“I won’t sleep with you, Logan,” she declares as you start caressing her belly, your hand under her top.

It’s hard to suppress a sigh. “I'm sorry,” you snap at her. “We don't open for the ‘vows of chastity’ until 9am.” But you remove your hand and let it slide into your boxer shorts instead.

So you take out your cock and while doing that you can feel her stiffen. Her breath is shallow and uneasy. She is switching through the channels, trying to ignore you. And you pump and moan and stroke and come.

Without a word, she hands you the tissue box from her night stand. She doesn’t look at you directly but her breathing, as it seems, is finally relaxing.

***

Come to think of it, this is indeed the first time she hisses your name under her breath. Somehow you had expected for this to happen much earlier. It’s Shelley Pomeroy’s party version 2.0 and you just caught Duncan and Veronica making out in the hottub. Glassy-eyed, you stare at them in a drunken haze and can’t hold yourself back from commenting.

“Oh magnificent hell, aren’t those the sweetest lovebirds? I can’t possibly booze as much as I want to barf right now!”

That’s when you hear your name.

“Logan!”

She spits it out with such sharpness that you think it might rip off your balls. Making sure things are still in place you grab your crotch, then sigh relieved. Still dizzy you reach out for her, for balance, for support. To your surprise it’s granted and you press your lips against her flushed ear, inhaling the scent of her perfume.

“Damn, Meg,” you whisper and pronounce her name in an affected way. “You’re so sexy.”

Flattery is not getting you anywhere.

***

You should think about this. But you don’t. If you did, you might discover a pattern.

It’s hours later and you’re a bit more sober. So you take her home. A wordless, painfully silent drive of fifteen minutes. Until you can finally step out of the car and escort her to the door.

“Do you love me, Meg?”

You’re pathetic. Also, it probably shouldn’t be so unnatural asking this.

“Only on odd days,” she says and smiles a little at her joke, but when she sees you’re not laughing, a hint of insecurity spreads across her face. “You are serious?” she asks. “I don’t know, Logan. I just don’t like you very much.”

It hurts as much as Lilly’s betrayal. Your father’s beatings. Your sister’s denial of your being abused.

If you thought about this, and were honest with yourself, it’d be evident you’re only in it for the punishment.

 

 **~Fin~**


End file.
